Two years ago I ended a 12-year relationship after 7 years of marriage. The big D. This will likely be the only time I openly talk about such, marriage and divorce, as the path between the two is between the two. While I knew it was needed, that fact didn’t prepare me for the feeling of loss; as if a part of myself was excised resulting in phantom limb pain, except it was another person missing. I’ve never experienced how labels can feel like an inherent negative connotation until the word “divorcee” rolled off my tongue when describing myself. One little word lends to so much interpretation. Failure. Giving up. Quitting. Not loving enough. Not being enough. Divorce means at one point I was married, in…